No Tomorrow
by faith-in-Faith
Summary: What if Bosco didn't make full recovery? Completed.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: No tomorrow.

AUTHOR: faith-in-Faith.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters or anything else connected to the show. I simple just borrow it to have some fun. 

RATING: PG-13

SPOILERS: There isn't anything to spoil anymore but if you haven't seen season six you will be spoiled

SUMMARY: What if Bosco didn't make full recovery….

WARNINGS: Another sad, shipper story.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: OK, this is another sad story and I'm sorry, but the depressing end they gave Bosco and Faith in the show made me think this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe even better….

Thanks goes to **Joey **for helping me to correct this and to **Bee** for telling me it was good enough and finally to **Swamy,** who's great video's inspired me when I was working.

NO TOMORROW

"I'm telling you, Faith, you're eating way too little," Jelly says in a slightly concerned voice, "I really thought you would eat more when Boscorelli is out of the hospital and you don't have to worry about him so much."

I just snort in return. What does he know about worrying? Not a thing; that's obvious because truth is, I'm worrying even more now that Bosco is home alone than I did when he was in the hospital. I can't shake the feeling that this isn't over yet. I'm not so sure he's doing as well as the doctors claim.

The sound of my cell phone ringing makes me jump. It has been this way ever since he got shot. I always fear it's bad news.

I press the talk button. "Faith."

"Hi, Faith. It's Rose."

I smile at the phone. Rose is such a sweetheart, although she talks everybody's ears off.

"Hi, Rose. What's up?"

"I was just wondering if you've seen Maurice today." She sounds worried.

"No, I haven't. But I talked to him this morning and he said he felt fine."

"But you haven't seen him in person?"

I sigh lightly because her question makes me feel guilty. I haven't seen him for four days. There just aren't enough hours in the day, but I have spoken with him on the phone at least once, sometimes twice, a day and he seems fine every time.

"No, Rose, I haven't. I'm sorry, but work has been crazy lately."

"I know and I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm worried about him."

I squeeze the phone harder. "Why, Rose? What's up?"

"I think it's something wrong with his head.

"What do you mean?"

Rose hesitates for a few seconds and that scares me more than anything. She usually talks insanely, without even stopping to catch her breath, and the fact that she actually seems to choose her words carefully is more than frightening.

"He doesn't seem to be able to remember things."

I swallow hard. "What kind of things?"

"Ordinary things – like eating. He called me yesterday, complaining about a bad stomach-ache and when I asked if he had eaten, he couldn't even remember. I went over there and cooked for him and he got better. He was starving, Faith, and he didn't have a clue!"

I feel a knot forming in my stomach. It's like a nightmare and the phrase _"long-term neurological damage"_ is echoing in my mind. But I'm not ready to accept it – not yet. Instead, I try to find a natural explanation.

"Maybe he's just tired. He seemed OK when he was in the hospital."

"Yeah, I know. But then they told him when to eat and sleep and stuff like that. Maybe no one noticed. I'm so worried about him, Faith, and I can't check on him myself today. I just have to work. They are going to fire me if I don't. Can you do it for me, please? Maybe you can talk to him and see if he's just tired or depressed, or if there's something really wrong with him. Please, Faith. "

"Sure, Rose – no problem. I'll check on him right away."

"Thank-you, sweetie," she exclaims happily. "Call me and let me know how he's doing and what you think, OK?"

"Sure, Rose, bye."

I hang up the phone and stare out into space with a feeling of dread inside. I really hope he's just really tired or depressed. I never thought that I would wish that he'd suffer from depression, but anything is better than the alternative. Because the alternative means that I'm never going to have the old Bosco back.

"Something wrong, Faith?"

Jelly's uncharacteristically soft voice brings me back to reality.

"I don't really know. Bosco's mother thinks something is wrong with him."

"Wanna check on him?"

"Yeah."

"Want me to come?"

"No offence, Jelly, but I don't think Bosco would appreciate it."

He nods knowingly. "None taken. How about I drop you off there and go and have something to eat while you're checking on him?"

I smile weakly. "Sounds like a really good plan to me."

555555

I stand outside Bosco's door feeling like I'm about to face my death sentence. I tell myself that I need to get a grip and take a deep breath before knocking.

No answer.

I knock again – a lot harder this time. Still nothing.

OK, so now I'm really worried. I search my purse for his key and find it almost immediately. I unlock the door and go inside. The apartment is dark and quiet.

"Bos?" I call softly and make my way though the hallway. There's no answer and I'm just about to call his name again when I spot him on the couch. He lies completely still and his face is ghostly pale. At first I fear that he's dead but then I see his chest rise and fall. I run to his side and drop down on my knees. His forehead is covered with a thin sheet of cold sweat.

I run my hands though his damp hair. "Bos?"

"Umm," he moans faintly.

"Bos, what's wrong?"

"Hurts. Hurts so bad," he whimpers painfully.

God, what's wrong with him? My heart is throbbing hard in my chest as I start to search for the source to his pain and agony.

"What, Bos? What hurts?" I ask, pulling up his shirt to check the bandage on his stomach. It looks OK – no blood.

"Everything," he states weakly.

I run my hand through his hair again. "What exactly do you mean by 'everything?'"

He opens his eyes and looks at me. They are clouded with pain.

"My back, my stomach, my leg, my cheek – everything."

I put my hand on his forehead to check for a fever but he's so sweaty it's hard to tell whether he's hot or not.

"Is the pain in your whole body? Do you feel achy, like when you got the flu?"

"No," he moans. "Just my wounds. My wounds hurt so bad. Faith, please help me."

I'm starting to feel desperate. I have no idea why he's in so much pain. The pain killers have always helped before. Sure, they have lowered the dose recently but this still doesn't make sense. Wait a minute…he has to actually take the pain killers to make them work and Rose said he's having trouble remembering things. What if he never took any today? What if he forgot? That would explain why he's in so much pain. I find the thought very appealing, although that means that Rose is right and we have a very serious problem on our hands, but at least that means I can ease his pain.

"Bos," I say softly and stroke his cheek. "Did you remember to take your painkillers today?"

He opens his eyes again and I can tell that he's trying very hard to remember. A few moments later he closes them again and whispers, "I don't know. I can't remember."

His voice sounds tired and defeated and I get the impression that he's aware of his memory problems.

I squeeze his hand reassuringly. "Don't worry about it. I figure something out, OK? But you have been taking them on a regular basis, right?"

He nods slightly and looks pleadingly at me. "Please, Faith, help me. Make it stop."

I squeeze his hand again. "I will."

I go out into his kitchen to look at his prescription bottles. I read the labels carefully, trying to do the proper math in my head. Then I dump the whole bottle on the counter and start counting the pills. When I'm done I do the same with the other bottle, and then – just to be sure – I count both bottles again. It doesn't add up. I was right. He has forgotten to take them – at least once, probably twice. I take the prescribed dose and one pill from the bottle marked "to take if needed," fill a glass with water and go back into the living room.

I kneel down beside him again and carefully squeeze his shoulder. "Bos, I have your meds here. Can you please try to sit up so you can take them?"

He opens his eyes and the pain-filled, desperate look in them is like torture to me. He has suffered enough by now. He doesn't need this.

"I didn't take them."

It's more a statement than a question. I brush his sweaty hair away from his forehead.

"No, you didn't."

"I'm turning into an idiot."

He closes his eyes and a few tears escape from behind his eyelids. I run my hand along his unharmed cheek in a gesture way too intimate for us, but I can't stop myself. I love him and I hate to see him suffering like this. Especially, since it's all because of me. I wonder if he would be pissed if he knew how much I wish that he had let me die that day, instead of putting himself though all this.

"Come on, sit up." I urge softly and put my arms around his shoulders, pulling him forward.

His face contorts in pain and he gives out a moan but he manages to pull himself up enough to be able to take the pills without choking. I put them in his mouth and hand him the water. He quickly downs them and carefully eases himself down on the couch again. I go into the bedroom and fetch a pillow and a blanket. I want him to be as comfortable as possible. I fuss around him for a few minutes and when he's settled; I sit down on the floor and start running my hand through his hair repeatedly.

The look on his face is still pained but he seems slightly more relaxed, probably because he knows there's now hope that the pain will come to an end, or at least ease up a bit. After a couple of minutes I take my hand away and start to get up.

Bosco's eyes opens briefly. "Don't go."

I smile reassuringly. "I won't. I'm just gonna call Jelly and let him know I won't be in anymore tonight."

"OK."

I walk out into the kitchen and dial the number to Jelly's cell phone. He picks up on the third ring. He sounds annoyed and his voice is muffled. I guess I interrupted his meal and for a second I feel bad. But only until I realize it's almost impossible not to do that.

"It's Faith," I declare shortly.

To my surprise, his tone of voice changes completely and is now one of concern and compassion.

"Yokas, how is he?"

His kindness catches me off guard and I almost start crying. "I'm not coming back tonight."

There's a brief moment of silence and then Jelly replies, "That bad, huh?"

I bite my bottom lip, telling myself I need to keep it together for Bosco's sake. "Yeah."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Just cover for me, will you?"

"Sure thing, are you at the hospital?"

"No, but I can't leave him alone."

"OK, see you around."

"Yeah, bye."

"Bye."

I hang up the phone and go back to sit by Bosco's side. This time, I'm content to just hold his hand. Just as when I left, he opens his eyes briefly when I sit down and take his hand, but he says nothing. I feel like I should do something more to ease his pain, but I know there's nothing more I can do. So, I just sit here on the floor, holding his hand, trying to figure out exactly what this means.

It's obvious that Rose is right. He's having problem with his memory – but why? And how severe? Could he really be that depressed? I don't know much about depression but I realize that it has to be very serious to cause these kinds of symptoms. I close my eyes and try to remember how he has been acting lately – if he has seemed depressed. From what I remember from our conversations the last couple of days, there's nothing indicating that, but – on the other hand – this is Bosco, and he could very well be covering it up. Especially since I have been busy and may not have been listening closely enough. I sigh. There's no way for me to figure this out on my own. I have to talk to Bosco about it. But whatever the reason is to his current state; I know it's serious and that I need to get him to a doctor as soon as possible.

About half an hour later, he's fast asleep and I feel incredible relieved that his pain and agony has come to an end for now. I let go of his hand and stand up. My whole body feels stiff from sitting on the floor for so long. I stretch my back and then bend down and kiss his forehead before sitting down in his armchair to try to get some rest myself. I know I should probably take his bed instead – or even better – make him take it. But I don't have the heart to wake him up – or enough energy to stand up. So, I remain where I am and close my eyes, allowing myself to drift off to sleep, knowing that he's safe and comfortable for now and that I will notice if something changes.

555555

I slowly open my eyes to see what's tickling my cheek and find myself staring into Bosco's concerned eyes.

"Faith, what are you doing here?"

I sit up a little straighter and try to stretch out my sore muscles. I'm starting to get old – that's for sure.

"I came here last night to check on you and you were in a great deal of pain, so when you fell asleep, I decided to stay the night in case you woke up and needed something."

"That's nice of you but you don't have to baby-sit me. I can take care of myself," he says slightly defensively.

"I know that, Bos. I stayed just as much for my sake as for yours. I would never have been able to sleep if I was at home."

"You worry too much," he replies and smiles fondly at me.

I smile back. "I know. So how are you feeling today?"

"I'm fine."

"Do you remember what happened last night?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course I remember what happened! Why wouldn't I?"

He sounds both angry and offended and I almost feel bad, but only until I remember how much pain he was in last night.

"So what happened?"

"I was in too much pain to move. You came by and fixed it. End of story."

"Do you remember why you were in so much pain?"

"I had forgotten to take my pain killers."

His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, and I know he knows just as well as I do that something is wrong with him.

"Why did you forget?"

He looks away. "I don't know."

"Bos," I say softly. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Bosco. Don't give me that crap. I've talked to your mother. She's worried about you and after seeing you last night, so am I. So you better tell me what this is all about."

I expect him to be angry and tell me to mind my own business, but he doesn't. Instead, he sits back down on the couch and puts his head in his hands. I move to sit beside him and carefully rest my hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, Bos. You can tell me."

"I don't know, Faith! I really don't know why, all of a sudden, I can't remember ordinary things – like eating. I just don't."

He looks up at me, his eyes shiny with tears. "I'm turning into some kind a freak that can't take care of himself anymore. I'm turning into an idiot, aren't I?"

I pull him into a hug. "No you're not. But something sure is wrong with you and we need to figure out what, so we can get you some help, OK?"

He sighs heavily and slips out of my embrace. "OK."

"Did you take your pain killers today?"

He nods. "Yeah, did it first thing when I woke up."

I smile. "Good. How about I fix you some breakfast and then we try to figure out what's wrong?"

He nods again. "OK"

I watch him while we're eating. He sure looks tired and he isn't eating much, but nothing is new there. It has been this way since he woke up.

He looks up and catches me staring. "What?"

"How you feeling?"

He shrugs and looks down again.

"You look tired, Bos."

He looks up again. "I am tired."

"More tired than when you were in the hospital?"

He shrugs again. "I don't think so."

"How's physiotherapy?"

"I haven't been going much."

"Why?"

"Because I don't always remember what time I'm supposed to be there!" he shouts angrily, but I know he isn't really, because the look in his eyes isn't angry. It's scared.

I don't really know what to say, so we sit in silence until he looks up at me again.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you."

I cover his hand with mine. "I know, Bos."

I bite my bottom lip, hesitating, because I know my next question is going to make him angry. He hates to discuss his mental health.

"Do you feel depressed, Bos?"

"Of course not. Why would I? I have been shot four times. I don't know when – or if – I'll be able to go back to work. I have a scar on my face making me look like a freak and my brain is melting or something. I'm happier than ever!"

"Bos," I say pleadingly. "Don't act like that. I'm just trying to help you. We need to figure out what's causing your memory problems so we know what kind of help you need."

"You think depression could cause this?" He's calm now and sounds curious, almost hopeful.

"Maybe. So, do you?"

He runs his hand through his hair. "I guess I do – at least a little bit. It's kind of depressing sitting here all day, you know. Thinking about you being out there alone and whether I come back or not, we will never be partners again."

A lump is forming in my throat. He's not the only one who gets depressed by that thought. I regret taking this promotion more and more with every passing day, and I wish I had never listened to Sully.

"I'm not alone and I miss you, too," I whisper.

He takes my hand and squeezes it reassuringly. "I know, and I didn't mean to make you feel bad. I just…."

I give him a shaky smile. "I know. So, you think you're depressed?"

He looks down. "Maybe. I feel low but I haven't had any panic attacks or anything."

I try to figure out whether the fact that he's admitting it is a good or bad thing. Do you really realize that you are depressed if you are as bad off as you have to be to get memory problems? I don't really know. Maybe I should make him see a shrink and see if it gets better.

I sigh, knowing that, although it sounds kind of promising, I can't stop here. I better cover all angles so I don't miss something. It's time to move on to the physical part.

"Have you been feeling strange lately?"

He looks confused. "What do you mean?"

"I don't really know…felt dizzy, having headaches, anything like that."

"I have been feeling kind of out of it from time to time since I got home, but I'm so tired all the time so I can't really tell for sure…."

We look at each other for a few moments and the phrase _"long-term neurological damage"_ is hanging between us like a curse. I sigh inwardly. This is too hard. I better take him to both the neurologist and to the shrink and see which of them that has a cure to offer.

"OK, you know what?"

He shakes his head.

"I think we better call both your neurologist and O'Malley and let them take a look at you."

"Sounds like a plan," he answers quietly and swallows hard. "Umm…do you think…umm…that you could come with me?"

I reach out and squeeze his hand again. "Of course I will."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

TITLE: No tomorrow.

AUTHOR: faith-in-Faith

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters – just the story line.

RATING: PG-13

SPOILER: There isn't anything to spoil anymore but if you haven't seen season six you will be spoiled SUMMARY: What if Bosco didn't make full recovery….

WARNINGS: Another sad, shipper story. Character dead.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: OK, this is another sad story and I'm sorry, but the depressing end they gave Bosco and Faith in the show made me think this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe even better….

Thanks goes to **Joey **for helping me to correct this and to **Bee** for telling me it was good enough and finally to **Swamy,** who's great video's inspired me when I was working.

And Thank you all of you who reviewed this. You made me very happy. I'll be back eventually with a new story. A happy one. ;)

CHAPTER TWO

I impatiently press down on the gas pedal, but there's no use. It's the middle of rush hour and the line of cars is barely moving. I'm anxious to get to Bosco, because Rose called me just minutes ago, telling me he's worse. It has been almost a week now since I found him on his couch in severe pain because he had forgotten to take his pain killers.

The next day, I took him to the neurologist and she found that his heart wasn't functioning properly. Something about the auriculars not moving the way they should. That they were just fluttering, or something like that. She called it "auricular fibrillation" and said it was probably the lack of oxygen when he was shot that had damaged his heart. I guess I should have taken bigger breaths…. Anyway, obviously it could cause small blood clots to form and travel through the blood stream to the brain and cause small strokes. These strokes are killing his brain, a little bit at the time. It could be the reason behind his memory problems, but there was no way for her to tell for sure, because the CAT-scan didn't show a thing. But she wanted to run another test called an MRI-scan. He couldn't get it done immediately, though. It's scheduled for tomorrow and from the sound of it, he really needs to get it done. Rose was beside herself with worry, crying and telling me he wasn't even himself anymore. I try to tell myself that she's overreacting – like mothers always do – but the truth is that I'm terrified.

The doctor – Sarah, I think her name is – said she couldn't rule out depression as a reason for his problems, so the next day I took him to O'Malley. O'Malley said that he was sorry but he didn't think Bosco was that depressed. He thought Bosco was doing very well considering the circumstances. I have to say I was disappointed. I can't help but find that solution much more appealing….

Later that afternoon we went to see the cardiologist. He admitted Bosco over the night and tried to fix the flutter in his heart by shocking him – like they did when his heart wasn't beating at all – but it didn't work. Instead, he sent Bos home with some new drugs that are supposed to make his blood thinner so it can't make clots. We both cried that night, because we knew that this problem with his heart means that, whether his memory problem is caused by blood clots or not, he's never going to be able to go back to work.

Rose and I have been taking turns checking on him ever since, but the last two days I've been out of town with Em and Charlie. Rose has been the one looking after him and, according to our earlier conversation, things are going downhill.

Finally, the traffic is clearing up and I'm able to speed up a bit and just a few minutes later, I spot Bosco's apartment building. I'm lucky to find a free parking space just three buildings down the street, and I quickly get out and start walking toward the entrance, my stomach filled with knots.

I reach his apartment and softly knock on the door. It opens almost right away.

"Hi, Faith!" he greets me happily.

I take in his unshaved appearance. He's just wearing a t-shirt and a pair of sweet pants, no socks.

I smile back. "Hi, Bos. Why didn't you get dressed today? You feeling OK?"

He looks down at himself in surprise. "I don't really know...but I'm fine."

He smiles again and the look in his eyes is the one of a happy child, and it makes my heart sink.

"Bos," I say softly. "Did you eat anything today?"

He wrinkles his forehead, then look bewilderedly at me. "I can't remember."

I close my eyes. Rose is right. It's getting worse.

I open them again and meet his concerned gaze. "You OK?"

I smile weakly, feeling like crying. "Yeah, Bos. I'm fine. Can I come in?"

He gives me an embarrassed smile and moves out of the way. "Yeah, sure. Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

I walk past him and into the kitchen. I stop briefly at the counter to check the dispenser I bought him after the scare with the pain killers. I'm pleased to see that the morning and lunch compartments are empty – just as they're supposed to be. At least he remembers to take his pills. I move over to the sink, no dirty dishes and it's dry. He has definitely not been eating anything today.

"Bos."

There's no answer and that surprises me since I'm sure he's right behind me. I turn around to see what he's up to and spot him leaning against the doorframe with an absent look in his eyes.

"Bos?"

Still no answer. He doesn't even seem to notice I'm here.

I walk up to him and touch his arm. "Bosco?"

He blinks a few times and grabs my arm as the sanity returns in his eyes.

"Bosco, are you OK?"

He shakes his head, as if to clear it, and smiles faintly at me. "Yeah, sorry about that. I got a bit dizzy there for a moment."

He tries to walk away from me, but his legs give out on him and he falls to the floor.

"Damn it!"

I quickly kneel down beside him. "Come here, let me help you."

He swats my hands away. "No, I don't need any help. I can take care of myself!"

I don't object. Instead, I stand up and watch him as he struggles to get up, trying to figure out how I'm going to convince him to go home with me. He might think that he's capable of taking care of himself, but everything I have seen since I got here today tells me differently. Rose is right. He's getting worse, and he can't take proper care of himself anymore.

He slowly makes his way over to the couch and sits down, closing his eyes. I follow him and sit down, too. I look at his pale face. He really looks ill nowadays. He lost a lot of weight during his hospital visit and – contrary to what we thought would happen – he hasn't gained any back since he got home. This just can't go on anymore. He needs someone to look after him.

I put my hand on his arm. "Bosco, you OK?"

He opens his eyes again and smiles a big, friendly smile at me, as if he has forgotten how angry he was with me just a minute ago and when I realize that's probably right on, I want to cry.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry if I scared you. I have been feeling a bit dizzy lately and I think it's worse today…." He looks hesitantly at me. "Maybe I should eat more…you know…to get stronger."

I feel tears stinging my eyes and I reach out and softly stroke his cheek. "That sounds like a great idea, Bos, because you haven't been eating at all today and it's already six o'clock."

His expression changes from unsure to sad and devastated. "I forgot again."

I stroke his cheek again. "Yeah, you did."

His face gets angry and for a moment the old Bosco is back. "I can't believe this! I'm like a fucking freak! If it's gonna continue like this I'm gonna need someone to take care of me – like I'm a child. Damn it! I can't believe it!"

I swallow hard. I have no idea how I going to get him to come home with me – especially not now – when he's angry again. The old Bosco isn't as agreeable as the forgetful one. Not to mention that I feel bad for thinking he can't take care of himself. The Bosco I once knew was a very strong and independent person and, although he needed me from time to time, he was fully capable of taking care of himself. The thought that he's gone – probably forever – makes my chest hurt and the lump in my throat is threatening to choke me. But I can't let him down. He needs to be taken care of – whether he admits it or not.

"Bos…" I stop and close my eyes. This is so hard. I'm not even sure I'll be able to go through with it. It's funny; killing for him wasn't twice as hard as this. I swallow hard and take a deep breath.

"Bos –"

"Oh my God!" He stares at me in horror. "You think I'm already there, don't you? You're about to tell me I need someone to take care of me, right?"

I look down on my hands, unable to look at him when I do this. "I'm really sorry, Bos, but it can't be helped. You're constantly forgetting to eat, you sometimes forget to shower and get dressed. I know you think it's humiliating to have someone to take of you, but this isn't exactly dignity either."

"I can't believe this. You of all people. I thought I could count on you."

There's still anger in his voice, but it's just barely covering the fear and desperation that's lingering underneath. I swallow hard to keep my tears at bay.

"I'm sorry, Bos. I don't want to be mean. I'm just trying to look out for you – like you always have for me – and you don't have to worry. I'm not going to ship you off to some nursing home or anything like that. You're coming home with me."

He shakes his head furiously. "No, Faith. No fucking way! There's not a chance in hell I'm going to let you destroy your life like that. Not a chance! If I'm that bad off you better put me away somewhere and forget all about me."

I can't stop the tears from falling any longer and I quickly wipe at my cheeks. "I could never do that, Bosco – never. You mean too much to me. You once told me that as my partner, you'd always be there for me, and that goes both ways, you know."

He gives me a bitter smile. "Don't worry about it, Faith. I would never hold it against you. I might have problems with my memory but I'm pretty sure they didn't say anything in the academy, indicating that you have to be there for your partner when he turns into an idiot."

I swallow hard a couple of times in an attempt to regain control. "Don't talk about yourself like that, Bosco. You're not an idiot."

"Obviously I am," he replies quietly.

"Bos, listen to me. You're not an idiot. You're sick. You need help. Please, Bosco, don't be stubborn. Let me help you."

He shakes his head determinately. "No, Faith. I can't let you do this. I can't let you destroy your life because I'm losing it. It wouldn't be fair."

"You could never destroy my life, Bosco. You're the reason I still have one," I whisper.

"Faith." He moves closer and puts his hand on my cheek. "Don't think for a moment that you owe me something, because you don't. I did what I did because I love you and I don't regret it. I want you to be alive more than anything and if the price I have to pay for that is my sanity, then so be it."

I'm crying now. I can't help it. He's all I have; all I ever really wanted and after all we've been through, this is how it's going to end. It's not fair and I can't accept it. There has to be a cure for this. There just has to.

"Don't cry, Faith," he says softly as tears start running down his own cheeks.

I cover his hand with mine. "And I love you. Please, Bos, let me do this for you."

I wonder if he has any idea just how much I love him. I wonder if he understands that I love him more than as a friend.

He looks unhappily at me. "Faith, I don't know…."

"Please, Bos – at least until you have been to the doctor again"

"I don't have any appointments scheduled."

I take my hand away and dry my tears. "Believe me, after I've talked to them, you will have one tomorrow."

He smiles slightly and wipes at his own tears. "OK, but if this is permanent, I'm not staying."

I don't answer and he doesn't push it, because neither of us wants to think about the permanent part.

I smile back and run my hand over his hair. "Why don't you go and pack some stuff."

He nods and leaves for his bedroom.

55555

I park the car outside my building and gently shake Bosco's shoulder. He fell asleep during the ride and I had to pick up the pizza without him, but that's OK, I know what he likes.

"Bos, wake up."

He stirs slightly and looks at me with very confused eyes. "Faith?"

I smile warmly at him. "Yeah, Bos it's me. We're here."

"Where is here?"

I feel my smile disappear. He has forgotten already. "At my place. You're supposed to stay with me for awhile, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure. I remember." His voice assures me he has full control, but the look in his eyes tells me he hasn't a clue what he's doing here.

I force a smile. "I bought us some pizza. I bet you're starving."

He smiles back. "As a matter of fact, I am."

"Then come on, let's go inside and eat."

"OK."

We both climb out of the car but when I straighten up I realize that Bosco is just standing there, holding onto the door.

I close my door and walk over to him and put my hand on his shoulder, juggling the pizza with one hand. "Bos?"

"Umm."

"You OK?"

He looks up at me. "Yeah, my head hurts a bit – that's all."

"Let's go upstairs and have something to eat and then you can take your painkillers, too. It's almost time for them anyway."

He smiles weakly. "Sounds like a plan."

We take the elevator upstairs and I unlock the door for him.

"Hi, Mom," Emily greets me from where she sits on the sofa, watching TV.

"Hi, Emmy," Bosco says calmly.

"Bosco!" Emily exclaims happily as she gets up from the sofa and carefully gives him a hug. "What are you doing here?"

"I…um…I..." He looks over at me for help.

"Bosco is gonna stay with us for awhile."

"Oh!" She searches my eyes and raises her eyebrows questioningly. I catch her gaze and nod slightly, confirming her question. "That's great! I could really use some company. You have no idea how boring Mom can be."

He smiles at her. "Of course I know. I used to be trapped in a car with her for eight hours."

I roll my eyes at them. "You two better be nice, or I'm gonna eat the whole pizza myself."

Bosco smiles fondly at me and then winks at Emily. "We can't have that, can we?"

She shakes her head. "No, let's go and sit down."

We sit down and I give Bosco his painkillers. He smiles gratefully at me and quickly downs them with some soda. Emily is chit-chatting happily with both of us during the meal, but Bosco grows more and more quiet and after a while he stops eating as well.

I look worriedly at him. "You OK, Bos?"

"Not really, my head hurts."

"You're probably tired," I say soothingly. "Why don't you go and brush your teeth. I'm just gonna change the sheets in my bed and then you can go to sleep."

His eyes widen. "I can't take your bed, Faith."

"Yes, you can, because the alternative is Charlie's bed and I'm not gonna let you and Em plot against me all night."

It's a joke but he doesn't smile. "I'll just take the couch."

I shake my head. "No way, Bos. You're still injured."

He looks tiredly at me and rubs his temples. "I can't kick you out of your own bed, Faith. It's bad enough that you…." He glances over at Em and I realize that something has made him remember why he's here. "…you know…."

"Don't worry about it, Bos. Just go and get ready for bed before you pass out on me, OK?"

He nods, stands up, takes his duffel-bag and heads for the bathroom.

I watch him leave and then turn to Emily. She looks worriedly at me. "Mom…."

I put my finger to my lips. "Why don't you go and get some clean sheets in the linen closet and help me change the bed?"

She nods and walks away and I go into my bedroom and start removing the sheets. Emily arrives with the new ones and we work in silence for a while, but finally she asks, "What's going on with Bosco, Mom?"

I sigh. "I wish I knew. His memory problems are getting worse and he can't take care of himself anymore. He can't even remember to eat and get dressed."

Emily bites her bottom lip. "It's awful, Mom."

"I know. You should have seen him when I arrived at his apartment today. He was like a child, a happy and innocent child…." I stop because I know I'm going to start crying if I continue.

Em drops what she's holding onto and gives me a hug. "I'm very sorry, Mom."

I nod and dry at the tears I haven't been able to hold back.

She pulls away and asks, "What are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna call the hospital first thing in the morning and try to get a doctors appointment for him."

She nods. "It's Saturday tomorrow and I have no school, so I can look after him for you if you have to go into work."

It's my turn to pull her into a hug. "Thank you, Em. It means a lot to me."

The sound of Bosco's shuffling steps makes us break apart and just moments later, he appears in the doorway. His face has an awful ashen shade and he looks like he's going to pass out.

Both Emily and I rush to his side and I grip his upper arms to steady him. "Bosco, what's wrong?"

He looks at me with a lost and confused look in his eyes. "My head, it hurts so bad, Faith. Why isn't the pain going away?"

I caress his hair. "I think you're exhausted. Let's get you in bed and then I'll get you an extra painkiller, OK?"

"I'll get it," Emily says and quietly leaves the room.

Bosco isn't moving and it takes everything I have to carry him over to the bed and help him lie down. Both the colour and the expression on his face remind me of the day he had forgotten to take his painkillers and I'm starting to get really worried. I sit down on the edge of the bed and carefully run my hand over his hair, feeling pleased when I feel him relax a bit.

I hear Emily's footsteps approach and say soothingly, "Emily's on her way with your painkillers now, Bos."

He suddenly opens his eyes and looks at me for a second, with a look of total confusion in them before they roll back in his head and he starts convulsing.

There's a loud crash and I hear Emily gasp. "Oh, my God!"

I look up at her. "Call 911 and tell them we need a bus on the rush because he's having a seizure."

She doesn't move – just stares at me in horror.

"Come on, Emily! Hurry up!" I yell desperately.

"Yeah, sure." She turns around and runs for the phone.

"Tell them he's an NYPD officer," I yell after her, hoping that that information will make the bus arrive quicker. Then I turn my attention back to Bosco.

He's shaking violently, thrashing from side to side like a rag doll, and it makes me feel sick. The whole situation makes me feel sick. I have never felt this helpless in my whole life. Not even when he got shot. Then I could at least do something. I could at least breathe for him – to try to keep him alive. Now, all I can do is to watch how his already battered body takes another beating. There's blood tricking from the corner of his mouth and I wonder where it's coming from and if it's enough for him to choke on.

I put one hand on his cheek and try to hold his arms in an attempt to stop him from moving around so much, but it's all in vain and I let go of him again. I don't want to do anything to risk hurting him any further.

"They're on their way," Emily says quietly from the doorway. "How is he?"

"The same," I answer, trying to swallow my tears. I need to be strong for Bos and I don't want to scare Emily any more than she already is.

She nods in return and quickly starts to clean up the mess of water and glass on the floor.

I look down at Bos again. He's still thrashing around and I feel tears welling up in my eyes. It's so hard to see him like this and I can't help but wondering if he's going to die before EMS gets here.

Then there's finally a knock on the door and soon enough, the paramedics are in the room. One of them starts asking me a lot of questions while he tends to Bosco, questions I don't really know the answer to. Like how long he's been having this seizure, if he has epilepsy, if he's allergic to anything and stuff like that. I try to answer him the best I can as his partner gently, but firmly, moves me out of the way and puts a needle in Bosco's hand and injects some kind of medication that's supposed to make the seizure to stop. In the meantime, the one who asked all the questions has put a mask over Bosco's face to increase the amount of oxygen he's inhaling. I wonder how it's even possible for him to breathe on his own, but obviously he does, otherwise they would have bagged him by now.

Both their expressions grow more and more concerned when there's no indication that Bosco would stop convulsing. The older one picks up his radio and asks the dispatcher to put him through to the hospital and I hear him ask for permission to use more of the drug that's supposed to stop Bos' seizure – diazepam he calls it.

He obviously gets permission because he nods at his colleague and he injects something in the needle. And – finally – the seizure stops and Bosco becomes completely still. He's so still it's frightening. He looks dead.

"OK, let's roll before he starts again," the older guy says.

The other one nods and looks over at me. "You coming, too?"

I look over at Emily. I know she's shocked and upset and I don't want her to feel abandoned but I don't want to leave Bos alone either….

She smiles weakly. "Just go, I will be fine."

"You sure?"

She nods, her eyes shiny with tears. "I'm sure. Call me, OK?"

I nod and hurry out through the door.

55555

I pace the floor of the waiting room over and over again. I'm going insane. I know I am. I can't do this again. The waiting game; it kills me. I have been playing this game a lot over the years. That's one of the privileges that comes with working with Bosco and I should be used to it by now, but I'm not, and I have never feared bad news more in our entire partnership – not even when he got shot.

The sound of footsteps makes me look toward the door and my eyes lock on Bosco's neurologist. She smiles that cute smile of hers and I can't help but wonder if she knows how attractive guys like Bosco find her.

"Detective Yokas, right?"

I nod and bite my bottom lip. "How is he?"

"Not so good I'm afraid. He's awake now but the cat-scan shows a hematoma in his brain. He can't talk and his left side is paralyzed."

I just stare at her in disbelief. "How the hell did he get a hematoma in his brain? I though his problem was blood clots."

She sighs lightly. "There's no way to tell for sure. There are a number of things that could cause it. The veins could be weakened by the strokes, and unfortunately hematoma is one of the most common side effects of the medication the cardiologist gave him to prevent new clots."

"So you mean that the medication that was supposed to help him have made him worse?"

She looks at me with an expression of regret on her face. "I'm sorry. I really am."

I take a deep breath. "But there's a cure for this, right? You can make him better. He can still get back to normal, right?"

She looks at me gravely. "To be honest with you, the chance that will happen is very slim."

"But there has to be something you can do."

"Well, there are a few options. We can try to operate to evacuate the hematoma and hope it will help his brain to heal, or we can just leave it as it is and try to rehabilitate him."

I can tell from her tone of voice that she's very reluctant to operate on him.

"You don't really see the operation as an option, do you?"

"No, I don't. The medication he's on is making his blood thin and increases the risk for us to start new hemorrhaging that'll probably kill him and the fact that he's still weak from his other injures doesn't help his case. The chances of him surviving an operation like that are slim to none."

"That's what they told me when he got shot, too, and he survived."

Her eyes are filled with compassion when she moves forward and gently puts her hand on my arm. "I know, but when that happened he was a well-trained, strong man; now he's very weak."

I close my eyes hard, trying not to cry, but I lose the battle and tears start pouring from my eyes.

Sarah squeezes my arm soothingly. "I know this is hard but you have to make a decision on what you want us to do."

I dry my tears. "Why don't you ask Bosco?"

She smiles sadly. "He's in no condition to make these kinds of decisions. He can't even talk."

"So, you're telling me I have to decide if my best friend would live or die?"

"I'm very sorry."

I sink down in a chair and hide my head in my hands. "I can't do this. I just can't."

Sarah crouches down beside me and rubs my back. "I'm really sorry, but someone has to make the decision."

"Well, I think I should be the one to do that."

The sound of Rose's voice startles me and I quickly turn around and look at her.

"Rose," I whisper. "I'm sorry I forgot to call you. How did you find out?"

Rose walks up to me and pulls me into a hug. "Emily called me and don't worry about it. You took care of Maurice. That's all that matters."

She lets go of me and looks over at the doctor. "Now tell me, what's going on."

Sarah starts to explain the situation to Rose but I don't listen anymore. Reality fades away as every memory with Bosco – good and bad – reels through my head, like I'm flipping through the pages in a photo album. And suddenly I know – without any doubt – what he wants. He wants to take the chance. He doesn't want to depended of people for the rest of his life if there's even the slightest chance to avoid it. He'd rather be dead than depended. I know it, but I wish there was a way to ask him, a way to confirm that I'm right.

I look up and abruptly cut off the doctor. "Can I see him? I need to ask him what he wants."

Sarah looks slightly surprised but nods her head. "Sure, you can see him. That's not a problem. But he can't talk, remember?"

Rose looks at me compassionately. "Honey, you can't ask him. He can't tell you what he wants."

"Yes, he can. We don't need words."

"Detective Yokas…."

"No, she's right," Rose says softly. "They can and I trust her on this. If anyone can figure out what Maurice wants, it's her."

She turns back to me and smiles. "Go ahead, honey, tell him I love him, OK?"

"He's in exam three," Sarah says softly.

I nervously enter the room and look at him. He's a sleep and he looks peaceful and innocent and I want to scream, because he doesn't look like Bosco. He looks like a little child. The strong, cocky, careless, loving jerk I once knew is gone, and it makes me even more convinced that this can't be what he wants.

I sit down beside him and run my hand through his hair. "Bos…."

His eyes flutter open and for a moment he looks confused, but then he recognizes me and smiles a lop-sided smile because half his face is paralyzed and that's all he can manage.

I smile back and try to blink away my tears. The thought that I'm never going to see his beautiful smile again is killing me.

I caress his cheek. "Hi, there."

He opens his mouth and tries to answer me but there are no words, just some meaningless sounds.

He looks angry and frustrated and I take his hand and squeeze it hard. "It's OK, Bos."

He doesn't look like he agrees and pulls his hand away from me, moving it up and down along his left side.

"I know, Bos. You have a hematoma in your brain and you're paralyzed."

He points at his mouth.

I nod. "Yeah, that's why you can't talk."

He closes his eyes and a few tears escape from behind his eyelids.

"Bos, I need to ask you something, OK?"

He opens his eyes again and looks questioningly at me.

I swallow hard and take a deep breath.

"Sarah – your doctor – says that they could try to operate to make you better, but there's no guarantee and there's a big chance you could die. Do you understand?"

He nods ever so slightly, his eyes telling me to go on.

"Or they will just leave it be and try to rehabilitate you."

He looks gravely at me and points at his mouth again. "I don't know if you're gonna be able to talk again, Bos."

He looks me straight in the eyes with a gaze so intense it feels like it's burning holes in me, then he does a slicing motion with his hand and I can feel my eyes fill with tears.

"You want them to operate," I whisper painfully.

He gives me another small nod and I can tell that the motion hurts him.

I put my head in my hands and start crying hysterically, my whole body shaking with sobs. I know I shouldn't. I know I should be strong for him, but I can't. All I can think of is that this is the end. I'm going to lose him.

I can feel his hand on my cheek as he clumsily tries to dry at my tears. I take my hands away and look at him. He's crying, too, and my heart shatters in a million pieces and suddenly I know there's something else I need to tell him. I can't let him die without knowing.

I reach out and gently caress his cheek. "I love you, Bosco."

He gives me another lop-sided smile and the expression in his eyes tells me he knows, but he doesn't. He doesn't know how much I really love him.

"No, Bos. You don't. I really love you. Not just like a friend."

His eyes widen a bit but then they grow soft and he picks up my hand, holding it tightly against his cheek.

He gazes intensely at me and tries to speak but fails. He closes his eyes and I can tell his starting to get really tired and I stroke his hair lovingly. "It's OK, Bos. Just rest."

But he opens his eyes again and moves my hand to cover his heart and his eyes are filled with a mixture of a frustration and hope.

My eyes tear up again. "I know."

Because I know he loves me, too. I really do. He took four bullets for me. That's enough proof for me.

He makes another attempt to smile and then closes his eyes.

I squeeze his hand. "I'm just gonna tell them what you want, but I'll be back, OK?" He doesn't respond and his eyes remain closed.

I slowly leave the room, crying so hard I almost can't see where I'm going. Rose and Sarah are waiting for me outside and when Rose sees how upset I am, she draws me into her embrace and hugs me tightly.

I allow myself to rest in her arms for a few moments but then I pull away and look over at Sarah. "Go ahead and operate."

She looks at me seriously. "You sure?"

I nod in return and she turns around and heads down the hall to set things up.

Proctor gives Bosco some sedatives and says softly, "You can stay with him until they come and get him." Her eyes are shiny and if I didn't know better, I'd have thought that she was close to tears.

Both Rose and I sit with him, watching him fall asleep. She holds his hand tightly and I caress his hair over and over again. He only looks up twice and I doubt he really sees us because his eyes are empty. It's like his soul is already gone.

We sit in the waiting area outside the OR for almost four hours before Sarah comes out. I only need to look at her to know he's gone, because she has tears in her eyes.

"I'm so very sorry."

Rose starts to cry hysterically but I just sit there, staring into space, feeling empty inside, wondering how I'm going to be able to go on living. Because without Bosco there is no tomorrow – at least not one that matters.

THE END.


End file.
